


Only Time, Part I: A Life To Share

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, Mollcroft, Molly Gets Tipsy, Molly's The Dancing Queen, Mycroft Being A Good "Boyfriend", Mycroft and Molly, Party Time!!, mild sexual teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>With her feelings now expressed, Molly is happier with her life than ever before and her confidence blooms as her relationship with Mycroft becomes known to more people … a few of them quite unexpected</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Time, Part I: A Life To Share

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~~~

**_~ Sunday Morning, Late May ~_ **

“I suppose I’ve been a terrible influence on you,” Molly said, tossing the newspaper section aside as she reached for a toast wedge from the rack on their breakfast tray and spread a thin layer of strawberry jam over it. “Crumbs _in_ the bed instead of just _on_ it surely can’t be far behind.”

Mycroft peered at her over the corner of his paper. “No crumbs in the bed,” he said sternly.

She met his eyes over the toast as she bit off a corner with a distinct crunch and looked unrepentant when a few crusty specks fell. “The risk of crumbs in the sheets is part of the adventure of eating in bed.”

“And getting rid of them will be your job.”

“Spoilsport,” she said, then shoved the rest of the wedge into her mouth as she picked up one of the glossy supplements and adjusted the pillows behind her. A companionable silence fell for the next ten minutes or so, other than the rustle of pages turning and the rattle of the teapot against the tray when Mycroft refilled his cup … so quiet that he started when Molly’s fingers suddenly gripped his forearm. “Look, Mycroft – isn’t this beautiful? All the gorgeous clothes and hats and uniforms and the white marquees against the grass and the sun shining on the lake?” He set his newspaper aside and took the magazine from her, studying the photograph she was pointing at as well as those she exclaimed over as she turned the page. “It’s all so, so … _veddy, veddy_ _British,_ ” she intoned in a plummy accent, then glanced up at him curiously when he turned the page again. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever …”

“Ever what?”

“Er, nothing,” she said, taking the magazine back. “Do you want any more breakfast?”

When Mycroft got up a few minutes later to take the tray to the sitting area, Molly quickly gathered the newspapers and dropped the stack off the side of the bed just as he turned around. “So … what would you like to do with the rest of the morning?” She suddenly tugged the neckline of her sleepshirt down and brushed her fingers between her breasts. “Oh, yuck - crumbs,” she grimaced, then glanced up at Mycroft through her lashes as she gripped the hem of her sleepshirt and started sliding it upwards. “I suppose there’s no alternative but to -” She broke off with a squeak when he crawled onto the bed and pressed her flat against the mattress, nuzzling her throat with his bristly chin, making her laugh as she wrapped her arms around his neck and cocked her head to plant kisses from his cheek to his earlobe before whispering in his ear. “I love you, Mycroft.”

He briefly stilled, then braced himself on his forearms, raising his head until their eyes met. She slowly smiled and met him halfway as he bent to kiss her, softly at first … lips parting, rubbing, pressing more firmly together, tongues brushing, sliding deeper … then Molly moaned and clutched his shoulders as the passion flared between them.

~~~~~

**_~ The Following Day ~_ **

Anthea was already working at her computer when Mycroft came through the door Monday morning, returned her greeting and continued to his office. Ten minutes later, she took him a cup of tea, then sat across from him to go over his mail and discuss changes to his diary. When the door eventually closed behind her, Mycroft pulled out his mobile and quickly scrolled through his contacts. “Harry? Mycroft,” he said. “No, no – that’s been resolved. Actually, I have a request if it won’t cause any problems for you upstairs …”

~ ~ ~

Shortly after returning from lunch, Anthea tapped on Mycroft’s door and stuck her head in. “Sir? A courier delivered a letter for you from the Lord Chamberlain’s office. Should I open it?”

Mycroft raised his brows. “Go ahead.” He waited while she slit open the envelope, fully expecting the reaction he got.

“Sir?” When Anthea looked up, her expression of polite inquiry couldn’t completely hide the shock in her eyes. “You’re accepting this time?”

“Mmm, it’s a surprise for Dr. Hooper.” When Anthea’s eyes widened further, Mycroft had to school his features to their usual impassivity since he found satisfying her undoubted curiosity about his private life to be unexpectedly amusing. He leaned over his desk and held out a hand, and she passed the stiff admittance cards to him. “So don’t say anything to anyone.”

She straightened abruptly, looking affronted. “I never do, sir.”

~~~~~

**_~ First Tuesday in June, Late Afternoon ~_ **

“Here you go, John.”

“Thanks,” he said, carefully taking the cooler from Molly. “I’m sure Sherlock appreciates this.” He huffed a laugh at the skeptical look she gave him. “In his own way.”

“Tell Sherlock there’s no point in complaining,” Molly warned, tapping a finger on the cooler’s lid. “He can have a _left_ foot or nothing.”

John was almost to the door when he glanced back, frowning. “Molly,” he said slowly, setting the cooler on a nearby table before walking back to where she’d settled on a stool. “You’ll think I’ve gone bonkers to bring it up, but …”

Her brows rose. “What?”

“Mary and I were in a taxi on Marylebone Road Friday night and a car like Mycroft’s pulled up outside a restaurant ahead of us and I, uh, happened to glance that way just as Mycroft came out.” He snorted as he leaned against the table next to Molly and crossed his arms as she reached for her chart. “I was so surprised to see Mycroft doing something so, uh … _human_ that at first I didn’t realize he had someone with him.” He glanced at her and chuckled. “Honestly, Molls – I couldn’t see the woman’s face but she was your general shape and size and for a moment I thought it was you.” Molly didn’t look up or say anything, but actually felt the weight of John’s gaze intensify. “Molly?”

“Yes?” Her tone was deliberately absentminded as she set down the chart and reached for a pipette, studying it like she’d never seen one before. The silence continued until Molly couldn’t stand it any longer and had to give John a sidelong glance ... which she immediately regretted since he was staring at her as if she’d suddenly grown an extra head.

 _“No,”_ he protested, sounding a bit dazed. “No. You’re _not_ … there’s no way –” He broke off when Molly slowly flushed. “You and Mycroft Holmes? You _have_ to be kidding!” John stalked off halfway across the room and stopped, scratching his head before grabbing the back of his neck … then abruptly swung around, eyes wide. “So _that’s_ why Mycroft was here. Two – no _three_ weeks ago,” he said, then added at her questioning look, “Sherlock said his brother was looking for you.” He frowned, lips pressed tightly together, brows lowered. “That _git!_ He could have explained.”

“There was nothing for Sherlock to explain, John. Mycroft simply needed to bring me something.” _Not a lie,_ she thought.

“What? Sorry – don’t answer that. It’s _soooo_ not my business,” he muttered. “I don’t even want to think about … oh _god,_ Mycroft has sex?” He glanced at Molly’s red face and felt his ears tingle as warmth rose up his neck. He stared at her for a few moments, then suddenly strode several paces away, then back, stopping and staring at her again until the words burst from him. “Have you lost your _mind,_ Molly? _Mycroft Holmes?_ You _know_ what he’s like!”

“Yes, John – I _do_ know what he’s truly like,” she said, suddenly feeling calm and confident. “I doubt _you_ have any idea. You go by Sherlock’s reaction to him.”

John was pacing again. “And Mycroft’s to Sherlock and the fact that he virtually _kidnapped_ me right after I met Sherlock!”

Molly couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “That was _years_ ago, John. I would think you’d be over that by now.”

 _“Over_ it?” John stopped to stare at her. “How long?” At her confused look, he clarified, “How long has it been going on?”

Molly’s fingers fiddled with the pipette, then she sighed. “Since the day of Sherlock’s aborted exile.”

John’s chin dropped toward his chest as he drew a deep breath. “And Sherlock’s known all this time.”

“No, not the whole time.”

His head jerked up at something in her tone. “Oh. _Oohhhhh_ – that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“That week when Sherlock was so out of sorts with you.”

Molly frowned. “That’s over and done.” She turned around and pulled a tray of samples toward her in the sudden silence.

“So … you and Mycroft. And he actually –”

“Yes.”

“But those suits … and the _umbrella,_ ” he marveled, then stared at her. “And that icy control. He’s like a dandified robot.”

“I can assure you he’s completely and _sublimely_ human,” Molly said drolly as she swiveled toward him on the stool. “Just ask Mary.”

“Mary? What’s _Mary_ got to do with it?”

“She’s a woman. See how _she_ reacts to the notion of Mycroft as a lover.”

“Oh my god,” he said woodenly. “Just – just – “

“And those suits are incredibly sexy.” Molly was starting to enjoy herself.

_“Stop!”_

“And that control and his attention to detail …”

“Okay, that’s it – I’m outta here.”

Molly laughed as he swiftly marched to the door, grabbing the cooler on his way. _“Bye, John!_ _Give Mary my love!”_

Molly replaced the pipette before heading for her office. She wasn’t sure what Mycroft would think about John knowing, but had a sneaking suspicion he might enjoy watching her act out certain humorous aspects of the conversation. Besides, John was almost family. He was hardly going to gossip about them.

**_~ Thirty Minutes Later ~_ **

“If I’d known Molly would go for an older man …,” Greg Lestrade sighed, then lifted his beer … “Cheers” … and took a long swallow. Both of his elbows were resting on the bar, shoulders drooping with tiredness after a stressful day that had started early at half past four. He pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his head. “So … Mycroft and Molly.”

They both sighed, then finally glanced at each other, shrugged and downed the rest of their beer. Meeting at the pub had been by chance - John feeling the need for a drink after Molly’s bombshell … Greg seeking some companionable talk at one of the Yard’s favorite off-duty hangouts before heading home for an early night.

“I better go,” John said, pushing away from the bar and reaching for the cooler. “Mary will be expecting me and I have to stop by Baker Street first.”

“What _is_ that anyway?”

“Trust me, Greg … you don’t want to know,” he said, scrunching up his face, “but it’s for Sherlock. From our favorite pathologist.”

~~~~~

**_~ The Following Tuesday ~_ **

“And then Peter actually complained to Mike Stamford that this wasn’t my scheduled day off … bend down, please … and that I should have informed them of the change weeks ago.”

Mycroft dutifully ducked his chin to his chest and bent lower. “Do you want me to have Peter vaporized?” His voice was muffled both by his position and the heavy spray of water.

Molly’s fingers stilled in his hair. “Could you do that?”

Mycroft raised his head, brushing a watery trail of shampoo off his forehead, then huffed a laugh at Molly’s arrested expression. “Not in this case, no,” he said, raising his hands to encircle her wrists. “Why are you washing my hair anyway?”

“Because you like the feel of my fingernails against your scalp.”

“Hmm.” His brows flicked upward, but he didn’t deny it as he gently lowered her hands between them before letting go. “You need to take care of your own hair. We have to leave by half past two.”

Molly lifted her chin and slid her hand around his neck, waiting until he gave her a peck on the lips before moving to the other side of the shower, where she repositioned the showerhead before quickly working shampoo into her hair. They’d each gone to work as usual that morning from their separate homes, then Mycroft had picked Molly up at Barts just before noon and brought her to the townhouse to get ready for the afternoon’s event since she’d left her dress and other necessities there the previous weekend.

Molly talked while they dried off … talked while she rubbed moisturizer over her arms, torso and legs … and talked some more while Mycroft silently brushed shaving cream over his cheeks and throat before starting to shave, eyeing her over his shoulder in the mirror when he was occasionally called upon to reply. He swirled the razor in the water, then tapped it against the side of the basin, pausing to watch as Molly stepped into a one-piece undergarment of some sort, seemingly constructed entirely of beige lace and … silk, he thought, as she tugged it up her body, bent over to carefully arrange her breasts in its cups and then straightened while sliding the straps over her shoulders. He lifted the razor and left another clean stripe on his cheek as she propped a foot on the vanity stool and bent again to work a stocking over her toes before smoothing it around her heel and up her leg. She frowned in concentration, still talking as she adjusted the top band around her upper thigh, then glanced over and met his eyes in the mirror. The color rose in her cheeks before she dropped her gaze and switched legs, silently pulling on the other stocking and smoothing it into place.

The quiet brought on by Molly’s momentary shyness was broken when she started talking again, this time about Sherlock recently badgering her for a foot. Mycroft had recognized the nervousness behind her almost constant chatter and had done nothing to stifle it. Better she get some of the nerves out while at home, he thought, than suppress them and have all that pent-up excitement possibly burst out when least expected. After all, attending the garden party was solely for Molly’s benefit … a special treat he was pleased to be able to arrange for her no matter how much he’d rather have avoided it.

Mycroft went to his dressing room and left Molly alone to dry her hair and finish getting ready. Almost forty-five minutes later, she passed through the empty dressing room, then stopped and went back to look at herself in his cheval mirror. She loved the vintage chiffon party dress in a big floral print of blue flowers and green leaves on a white background, with cap sleeves, draped neckline, close-fitting bodice, cummerbund waist, and full circular skirt ending at her knees where a sliver of lace-edged crinoline showed along the hem as she walked. Nude stockings combined with nude court shoes – solidly heeled and a sensible height to help ward off grass-related accidents – added length to her legs. She’d kept her makeup simple, as was her jewelry - single pearl earrings and a single-strand pearl necklace that had belonged to her mother. Her new hat had dictated how she styled her hair, which was braided and coiled at the nape of her neck to ensure a good fit for the baby blue brim hat of woven straw covered in netting, braided silk ribbons and a blue silk rose. A simple clutch and then the final touch … white lace gloves with a pearl closure and tiny satin bow at the wrist. Molly found it hard to believe many women would be wearing gloves, but they were a gift from Mycroft, so she’d wear them. Besides, if the gloves felt out of place, she could always take them off for some reason and forget to put them back on.

Molly turned off her mobile before tucking it into her clutch, picked up a soft, white, woolen bolero, then took the lift to the ground floor. Mycroft was sitting at his desk but rose to his feet as soon as she walked into the study. “Oh dear - I’m not running late, am I?”

“Not at all,” he said as he came around to meet her. “You look beautiful, Molly.”

Molly tilted her head and gave him a stern look. “Thank you, Mycroft, but there’s really no reason to exaggerate,” she said. “I don’t need to be calmed down. I’m perfectly fine with the possibility of meeting the Queen.”

Mycroft didn’t tell Molly there was no “possible” about it. “I wasn’t exaggerating … you are beautiful,” he said, bending to kiss her lightly on the cheek so as not to smudge her lipstick or get any on _him._ “Are you ready to go?”

“Is it time already?”

“It’s a bit early, but the traffic near the Palace will be heavier than usual.”

“Let me look at you for a moment,” she said, placing a staying hand on his chest before moving back a step. Mycroft was wearing morning dress – long-tailed black morning coat; dove grey, single-breasted waistcoat; classic grey and black pin-striped trousers – with a crisp white shirt and a blue silk tie which mirrored the flowers in her dress. “You look very handsome, Mycroft, and in real danger of being mistaken for a member of the royal family.”

“I’ll be one of hundreds,” he scoffed. “Even the ushers wear morning dress.” He hooked his umbrella over his arm and reached for his top hat and gloves, then urged Molly out of the room with a hand on her back.

“Are you actually going to wear the hat?”

“Probably not. One needs only to be seen with the hat so carrying it is sufficient.”

Mrs. Bell came out of the kitchen just as they reached the lift, and her exclamations and compliments delayed their arrival in the garage by another five minutes. Simon straightened away from the car when they finally appeared and opened the back door with a flourish and a smile. “To the Palace, ma’am?”

Molly laughed and, mindful of the hat, bent low as she climbed in, slid over and carefully arranged her dress. Mycroft stooped to set his hat on the seat beside her, tucked the gloves in an inside pocket, then hitched up the knees of his trousers and followed her into the car.  

**~ ~ ~**

Despite expecting it, Molly was surprised to see the great number of cars parked on the Mall and the huge queue of well-dressed people who were slowly streaming through the main gates of Buckingham Palace and across the forecourt. In addition to the thousands of guests arriving for the garden party, security officers had to deal with the usual tourists, who were avidly watching the colorful spectacle.

Simon worked his way through the traffic on the Spur Road and further around to Constitution Hill, then drew to the curb near a side gate. Mycroft quickly exited the car and turned to help Molly, then ushered her across the pavement and after a short wait presented their admittance cards and IDs to a guard, who abruptly straightened after a glance at Mycroft’s and returned their IDs with a respectful, “Enjoy your afternoon, sir … ma’am.”

Mycroft had intended to head directly to the gardens to avoid some of the crowd entering through the main gates, but a glance at Molly’s eager expression as they crossed the forecourt made him suppress a sigh and veer toward the stream of people passing under the fabled balcony. They passed through the archway, then out again and across the interior courtyard and up the steps into the Grand Entrance on a thick red carpet, with Molly doing her best not to gawk at the decor. A hand touched Mycroft’s shoulder just as they were about to go out onto the terrace and the softly spoken “Mr. Holmes” was enough for Mycroft to gently grasp Molly’s arm and smoothly change course, moving out of the procession of people as discreetly as possible to follow the usher. To her credit, Molly didn’t ask questions or hesitate to go along.

They turned off the side corridor into another large reception room and the usher stepped aside as one of the Queen’s Equerries entered through the opposite archway, hand outstretched, offering a jovial greeting as the three of them met in the center of the room. “Mycroft.”

“Harry,” he replied, shaking the other man’s hand before quickly introducing Molly. “What can I do for you?” Mycroft saw Harry’s eyes briefly shift toward Molly and turned to her. “I need to speak to Harry for a few minutes. You can wait for me here or perhaps …” He glanced at Harry.

The other man took his cue. “I can have someone escort you into the gardens to get some tea.”

“That would be fine,” she said, turning with a smile as the usher joined them.

Harry made introductions and explained what was needed, then added, “Gerald, be sure Dr. Hooper is properly taken care of.”

Gerald escorted Molly outside, pausing on the wide stone terrace to let her take in the view of the expansive gardens, then continued down the steps and across the perfectly manicured lawn to the largest of three marquees. Molly stopped at the threshold, amazed by the extremely long buffet tables and the quantity and range of refreshments being offered. She looked at Gerald, wide-eyed, and couldn’t suppress an inelegant “wow.” He followed behind as she joined the steadily moving queue and at her request took a plate for Mycroft, filling it with the choices she made for both of them - finger-sized sandwiches of smoked salmon, gammon ham, chicken and asparagus … miniature versions of Victoria sponge, Dundee cake, strawberry and lemon tarts … cups of tea – all neatly fitted on the small, white, rectangular, tray-like plates that Molly found utterly adorable, an opinion she happily shared with Gerald, who manfully suppressed a snort. They left the marquee and strolled toward a more distant table in an area still relatively free of other guests.

As Molly settled onto a chair facing the terrace, she looked past Gerald and saw Mycroft striding across the grass toward them. He returned her smile and nodded at the departing Gerald, then checked the time before tucking his pocket watch away. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “Better eat quickly, my dear.”

**~ ~ ~**

Just before four o’clock, a stirring of anticipation, a coming to attention, rippled through the large crowd at hearing the traditional drum roll before the military band played the first familiar notes of the National Anthem, and the Queen in a lilac coat and hat and the Duke of Edinburgh in morning dress appeared at the top of the terrace steps with several other members of the royal family.

From their location in a relatively open space away from those guests who had sought the best vantage points to see the royal hosts, Mycroft automatically scanned the crowd, on alert for signs of trouble, until his gaze finally stopped on Molly, who was glowing with excitement and singing with enthusiasm beside him … and looking especially lovely, he thought, in her summery frock and party hat. When the last note sounded, people again began milling about until they stood at least ten deep along the cleared lanes by which the Queen and other members of her family would make their way to the royal tea tent.

Sometime later, they were talking quietly together - Mycroft leaning on his umbrella and occasionally sharing a witty and/or caustic bon mot under his breath about a few of the more recognizable public figures in attendance, Molly standing with a hand through his elbow and suppressing giggles – when Molly made an inarticulate noise in her throat and abruptly stood to attention. Mycroft’s gaze followed hers and he wasn’t surprised to see Harry slowly clearing a path that was on target to reach them momentarily. He casually straightened, hooking his umbrella over his arm as he reached into his jacket and then discreetly pulled on his gloves. A buzz of excited conversation grew in their vicinity and a few moments later it was clear to all where the Queen and the Equerry were headed.

“Good afternoon, Mycroft.”

“Your Majesty,” he nodded before lightly pressing the offered hand with his fingers while Molly quickly dipped a knee beside him. Up close, a strip of the Queen’s dress in a floral print of white, blue and lilac could be seen between the front edges of her lilac coat, which was fastened with a single large button at the neck.

“Do introduce your friend, Mycroft.” Harry, who would normally have briefed the Queen about the guests she was meeting, had stepped aside when she was a few feet from Mycroft.

“Ma’am, may I present Dr. Molly Hooper, a pathologist at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.” His lips curved briefly as he added, “And a keen participant in some of Sherlock’s more interesting cases.” When the Queen’s attention shifted to Molly, Mycroft lifted his chin at Harry, appreciating the other man’s efforts on Molly’s behalf.

The Queen softly chuckled as she offered her gloved hand to Molly, who gingerly met it with hers. “Friends with not one, but both Holmes brothers? You must have nerves of steel and a strong constitution, Dr. Hooper.”

“I’m not sure about the nerves, Your Majesty,” Molly said with a wide smile. “My life isn’t dull, that’s for sure.”

The Queen gave Molly an approving glance, returning her smile kindly before turning aside. “Mycroft,” she said with a significant look, “I’m pleased to see you looking so well.” The slight slide of her gaze toward Molly as she spoke did not go unnoticed by him.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Enjoy the rest of the afternoon, Dr. Hooper,”

“It’s an honor to be here, Ma’am. Thank you.”

And that quickly the Queen had moved on, Harry close by her side, and Molly realized the Equerry had kept a small circle clear around the three of them through nothing more than his body language and rather forbidding expression. Molly watched until the Queen was chatting with another small group of guests and then turned to stare up at Mycroft. “I suppose that just happened.”

He huffed a laugh under his breath while tugging off his gloves, then tucked them into a pocket and took her arm. “Come on,” he said, “let me show you more of the gardens.”

They’d started toward the nearest gravel path when Mycroft stopped. Molly looked around curiously and saw the Equerry coming their way. She gave Harry a warm smile before stepping back to give the two of them more privacy ... and then a flash of red out of the corner of her eye made her glance sideways, only to find herself standing by a Yeoman of the Guard, his pike planted firmly on the grass beside him. She looked from him to the other two men, then pivoted on her heel and headed back to the refreshments marquee, unconsciously walking in time to the lively tune being played by one of the military bands. After a few minutes, she left the tent and moved to stand in a clear spot where she could sip her lemonade in relative peace while watching the other guests move about the gardens in their military uniforms, formal clothes, and the occasional national dress.

“Sorry about that,” Mycroft said as he came up behind her. “I don’t think we’ll be interrupted again.”

“Is there a problem you need to handle? Do you need to leave?”

“No,” he said, taking the empty glass from her and handing it to a passing usher. “Let’s go. There are almost forty acres of gardens to explore.”

They strolled up, down and around on gravel paths, at times closer to the outer garden wall, where the noise of traffic from the outside was in such sharp contrast to the tranquility of the views within… at other times in the midst of a seeming wilderness of butterflies and birds, wildflowers, lush plants and flower-filled borders where the sound of traffic disappeared and the unexpected hush - broken only by the distant music of the alternating bands, the near and far voices of other wandering guests, the buzzing of bees, quacking of ducks and calls of other waterfowl - seemed uncanny in the center of London. They strolled around the lake, along both shady and sunny paths, passing historical features as well as immaculate garden structures of more recent vintage.

They eventually sat on a bench overlooking the sunlit lake, enjoying the late afternoon sun, listening to the music wafting over the water, staring at the magnificent view, and occasionally discussing plans for the next several weekends. When the National Anthem finally drifted out over the lake, Mycroft and Molly got to their feet and stood quietly until the last note faded. “Time to go,” he said, offering her his arm.

They exited the grounds through the Grosvenor Gate, and Molly wasn’t surprised to see Mycroft’s car pull up on cue. Once they were on their way home, Molly took Mycroft’s hand and threaded their fingers together, sighing happily as she rested her head against his arm. “Thank you for giving me such a brilliant afternoon.”

“I didn’t have much to do with it,” he said.

“You made it happen,” she countered, tilting her head to meet his gaze, “and then tolerated three hours of being stuck among thousands of noisy people on my behalf, so I truly am grateful, Mycroft.”

Without giving a thought to the third person in the car, Mycroft leaned sideways to kiss her.

After a quick glance in the rearview mirror, Simon suppressed a smile and politely averted his eyes.

**_~ Later That Night ~_ **

“So tell me …,” Molly said nonchalantly, her fingers lightly brushing through Mycroft’s chest hair, “… was that the first time you introduced a personal, um, _friend_ to the Queen?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied the crown of Molly’s head. “No,” he finally replied, then slowly smiled to himself when her body – which awhile earlier had collapsed on top of him in that boneless sprawl of post-coital bliss – went just a bit rigid. “Although I suppose the others didn’t quite fit the category of ‘friend’ … so yes,” he said decisively, “today was the first time.”

Molly crossed her arms over his chest and lifted her head to look down at his face, the crease between her brows belying her unconcerned tone of voice. “What category did ‘the others’ fit then?”

“Family,” he said, then clarified, “my parents … seven years ago.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t being nosy about your past love life,” she eventually said earnestly – _exceedingly, unconvincingly earnest,_ he thought. “That’s none of my business.”

 _“Mmm,”_ he replied noncommittally. “Ready to turn out the light?” When she’d rolled over and he’d shifted into position along her back, he allowed himself another smile, then nudged her hair aside and kissed her bare shoulder. “Good night, Molly.”

“Good night, darling.” Molly stiffened when she realized what she’d said, but then Mycroft’s arm slid around her middle and his hand curved lightly over her breast and she settled more deeply into her pillow with a contented sigh.

~~~~~

**_~ End of June ~_ **

Anthea lowered the tray onto Mycroft’s desk, set one plate of sandwiches by his right hand and the other at her place across from him, then picked up the teapot and filled their cups before settling in her chair with a sigh. “I got you roast beef, but we can switch if you’d rather have my turkey wrap.”

“This is fine, thank you,” he said absentmindedly, not looking up from his computer.

By the time she’d eaten half her sandwich, he still hadn’t moved from the position he’d been in ten minutes before – bent elbow on desk, chin resting on his thumb, knuckle of index finger between his teeth, eyes focused on the satellite images moving over the screen. “Your tea’s probably cold by now, sir.”

“Hmm?” After a few moments, Mycroft glanced at her, brows raised, before lowering his eyes to the plate. He picked up the teacup, then grimaced after taking a sip. “This has gone cold.”

Anthea suppressed an eye roll as she rose to her feet. “Let me pour you a fresh cup.”

Half an hour later, Mycroft pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket, glanced at the screen, and sighed as he raised a finger toward Anthea, who’d been reading an email out loud. “Just a moment,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear. “What do you want, Sherlock – I’m busy.” Anthea watched as Mycroft sat back, seemingly relaxed, but he was tapping a finger against his desk, a sure sign of impatience. “No, Sherlock, I will not be attending the Detective Inspector’s birthday ‘do,’ nor would anyone enjoy it if I did.” He rubbed his forehead, then ran his hand over his head and grasped the back of his neck. _“Sherlock ..._ I don’t have time for this.”

Mycroft tucked the phone away but it vibrated again almost immediately. He hesitated before reading the text and frowned when he saw the accompanying image. After a few moments, he looked across at Anthea. “Let’s pick up where we left off in the morning,” he said, giving her a brief wave of dismissal. “Have a good evening.”

Anthea uncrossed her legs and stood, knowing she couldn’t pry no matter how curious she was about what had just happened. “Good night, sir.”

When the door closed behind her, Mycroft tilted his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes for a few moments before running his thumb over his phone to watch the brief video. _“Damn it,”_ he muttered before getting to his feet and heading for the door.

**~ ~ ~**

Simon brought the car to a stop outside the pub and glanced in the mirror when Mycroft made no immediate move to get out. “Sir?”

Mycroft’s gaze met the driver’s and he shook his head, grimacing. “An evening at a pub that proudly advertises its karaoke nights.” He took a deep breath and his expression smoothed into its usual neutral lines as he stepped out onto the pavement.

A rising swell of noise and warmth from too many bodies too close together talking far too loudly washed over Mycroft as he pulled the pub’s door open and stepped inside. His eyes scanned the crowd, passing over the giant birthday banner hanging over the bar, the excessive use of black crepe paper streamers and the dual/contrasting Fifty-And-Fabulous/One-Foot-In-The-Grave party themes, and suddenly focused on the back of a dark head of curls before shifting to the far end of the large room where all those gathered there blocked his view of what was going on. When he began to make his way across the room, people automatically cleared a path for him at seeing such an impeccably suited gentleman in their midst. Mycroft didn’t acknowledge or even notice that, nor did he pay attention to the gasp from someone in Lestrade’s division who recognized him as Sherlock’s brother from a past crime scene. He eventually came to a halt on the far side of the table from where Sherlock was sitting, facing away from him.

“Do have a seat, brother dear,” Sherlock said, without turning around. “Your girlfriend’s about to go on again.” Mycroft’s mouth tightened in annoyance and he silently stared at the back of Sherlock’s head until his brother finally turned toward him, gaze narrowed. “Well?”

“I actually _was_ busy, Sherlock,” he said. “What Molly chooses to do on her evenings out is her business. There’s nothing wrong with her having some fun.”

“It doesn’t bother you that she was singing a love song to Gustav?”

Mycroft replied with a haughty arch of brows, designed to irritate. “To whom?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Lestrade?”

Mycroft sighed. “According to my sources – namely you and _Molly_ – it’s Detective Inspective _Gregory_ Lestrade’s fiftieth birthday and I would expect something of that sort to occur at a party being held for him … on a _karaoke_ night at his favorite pub.” He couldn’t quite suppress another grimace at the thought.

“Then why did you hotfoot it over here after reading my text?”

Mycroft unconsciously chewed his lip, then stared daggers at Sherlock when he snorted derisively. His brother’s expression suddenly lightened with amusement, and he gave Mycroft a taunting smile as the music started up again with an abrupt descending glissando. From somewhere in the crowd, Molly called out “Happy Birthday, Greg!” over the throbbing disco beat and then several female voices began to sing in unison.

“There you go, brother mine,” Sherlock said, raising his voice. “You should work your way to the front for a better view as I’m sure some sort of dancing will be involved.”

Mycroft glanced toward the stage as the unfortunately familiar song really got going – “unfortunate” because it brought back memories of a miserable afternoon spent with his parents at a West End matinee.  

_“Friday night and the lights are low …”_

He briefly closed his eyes before looking at Sherlock. “You are such an arse, little brother.” He turned away without waiting for a response and soon found a space where he could stand and actually see over people’s heads. Molly was on stage with Mary Watson and Sergeant Sally Donovan and the three of them were executing dance steps and arm movements that looked surprisingly well-coordinated. He certainly didn’t think they’d had a chance to practice them together.

_“Anybody could be that guy …”_

Someone suddenly shouted, “Take _me_ home with you, Molly!”

Mycroft located the lout almost immediately and had shifted to lean against a pillar, staring at the man, considering his options, when Greg Lestrade stepped in front of him and blocked his view. “Stand down, Mycroft,” he said with an easy smile. “Steve’s just having some fun. He didn’t mean anything by it.” He huffed a laugh. “And you must admit Molly doesn’t look the way we lesser mortals are normally allowed to see her.”

Mycroft again glanced toward the other end of the room, taking in Molly’s loose hair and the silky blue tank top and skinny black jeans that were quite a contrast to the over-sized clothing she normally wore for work … and that were displaying her physical charms quite attractively as she twisted and swayed and wiggled about the stage. Indeed, the swing of her hips was - Mycroft abruptly straightened while also considering the fact that Lestrade was obviously aware of his and Molly’s relationship. “Happy Birthday, Detective Inspector.”

“Thanks, Mycroft. How about a drink?”

_“You are the Dancing Queen …”_

Mycroft followed Lestrade across the room and leaned an elbow on the bar, sipping his drink while watching Molly sing and dance.

_“You can dance, you can jive …”_

Mycroft had heard Molly sing at home when she was doing so unconsciously or almost under her breath so he’d known she could carry a tune, but hearing her sing in full voice and in public was an eye-opener. What happened to the shy, self-effacing, self-proclaimed “mouse”?

_“You’re a teaser, you turn ‘em on …”_

More hoots and cheers added to the noise level as the three women became looser in their moves and more confident. They were obviously having a lot of fun, smiling and laughing as they encouraged each other.

_“And when you get the chance …”_

Even Mycroft recognized that the crowd was genuinely enjoying the performance and found himself moving toward the stage, easing his way between people until he was on the second row. The decibel level must surely be sufficient to perforate eardrums, he thought, wincing internally.

_“Digging the Dancing Queen …”_

Just as the song was coming to an end, Molly glanced around the room and her gaze abruptly stopped on Mycroft. Without thinking, she called out to him in delight … and straight into the open microphone. _“Mycroft!”_

Well …, he thought as he moved toward the steps to meet her, no one could have missed hearing _that_. However, he _was_ able to avoid having her leap into his arms by giving her his hand as she came off stage and allowing her to wrap her hands around his arm as they crossed the room to Sherlock’s table. His Molly was just a bit tipsy ... possibly more than a bit.

Over the next hour, Sherlock was obviously greatly entertained by witnessing Mycroft sitting at a full table, eating a slice of cloyingly sweet birthday cake, drinking inferior champagne, in a noisy pub filled with Lestrade’s colleagues and friends, the noise level enough to raise the roof … all while dealing with a happy, glowing, bright-eyed Molly who was sufficiently inebriated to have lost some of the discretion that normally kept her from showing Mycroft affection in public … the result being that their personal situation would be unmistakable to anyone paying attention. She’d done nothing too explicit, although she’d side-hugged him at one point and her hand had started to slide over his stomach until he’d quickly grabbed it … an interaction luckily hidden by the table, but Mycroft was certain Sherlock was aware of what had – almost – occurred. Sherlock hadn’t stopped smirking since they’d arrived at the table, and Mycroft knew that his brother knew that Molly’s hand was currently flattened on Mycroft’s thigh with Mycroft’s hand covering hers to keep it from wandering farther.

Mycroft glanced at the people sitting around the table – which besides his brother and Molly included Lestrade, the Watsons, Sergeant Donovan and her date – and was aware that he and Molly were the focus of the others’ attention, however much they might be attempting to disguise it. He’d suddenly had enough and leaned toward Molly, waiting until she lifted her head from his upper arm and met his eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

Molly didn’t wait for Mycroft’s help, but instead shoved her chair back and got to her feet, tugging on Mycroft’s hand. “We’re going,” she said abruptly, then smiled widely. “Happy Birthday, Greg! I had a _fantastic_ time!” She waved her free arm in the air. “Good night, everybody!”

So much for a discreet exit.

~ ~ ~

By the time the pub door eventually shut behind the departing pair, Sherlock was already on his mobile, but the others were silently staring at each other – a silence that was finally broken when Sally looked around the table and slapped her palms on its surface. “The freak’s brother … going home with the hot chick,” she said disbelievingly, shaking her head. “Who’d have thought?”

**~ ~ ~**

Molly had been quietly snuggling against Mycroft’s side, her arm around his chest, apparently in a light doze, but halfway to her flat, she suddenly sat up and threw her knee over him, straddling his lap, tucking her face into his neck, humming as she kissed his throat.

“Molly,” he warned softly, with a jerk of his head toward the front of the car. “Simon.”

Molly straightened and twisted around, causing Mycroft to draw a sharp breath through his teeth. “Oh - hi, Simon!”

Simon’s eyes crinkled in the rearview mirror, but he quickly suppressed his amusement when his gaze met that of his boss. “Good evening, Dr. Hooper.”

“Ish not Doctor Hooper … ish Molly,” she said, frowning at him.

Mycroft pulled her to his chest, lightly rubbing her back until she relaxed, then eased her off to the side, keeping an arm firmly around her waist as she again snuggled against him.

**~ ~ ~**

“You’re inebriated,” Mycroft said, gently removing Molly’s left hand from the front of his trousers while taking the empty water bottle from her right and setting it on the vanity. “There are rules about this sort of thing.”

“I’m not com-compleshly … completely … um, _that.”_

“Enough though. Here,” he said, passing her the toothbrush with a strip of toothpaste already on it. “You need to brush your teeth.” When she stuck the toothbrush in her mouth, he leaned against the wall beside the vanity, wondering how much she’d remember in the morning. When she was finished, he took the toothbrush from her, rinsed it and returned it to its holder. “Can you manage washing your face?” When she just looked at him, blinking sleepily, he took hold of her shoulders and backed her up until she sat on the vanity stool. “Sit there for a moment,” he said, then looked through her cupboard for the makeup remover he’d seen her use.

By the time Mycroft had gently cleaned Molly’s face and helped her into pajamas, she was so sleepy that he simply picked her up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her in. She started to say something after he stooped to kiss her forehead, but dozed off before she completed the sentence.

Mycroft shook out her clothes and hung them over the valet stand, then went to the kitchen, fed Toby and returned to the bedroom with another bottle of water and two paracetamol in a medicine cup he found in a kitchen drawer. Toby had followed him and was now curled up on the bed, staring at him from the crook of Molly’s knees.

“Take care of her,” he said, then felt foolish for talking to a cat and looked around the room once more before leaving the flat and locking the door behind him.

**~ ~ ~**

Mycroft’s mobile buzzed as he was about to leave for work the next morning, and his lips quirked when he checked the screen. “How’s the head?”

 _“I’ve been worse … much worse,”_ Molly groaned. _“Was I, um,_ awful _last night?”_

“No, you were your usual irresistible self, and I would have stayed over but work called me away.” His brows rose when she didn’t respond. “Molly?”

 _“Sorry – I dropped the phone,”_ she said breathlessly. _“Will you be free tonight?”_

“Should be, but I’ll have to confirm later.”

_“Okay. Well, um … have a good day, Mycroft.”_

“You as well.” He started to ring off, but suddenly couldn’t resist teasing her. “Oh - by the way, my dear ... no more attempts to seduce me in front of my driver, all right?”

When Mycroft heard sounds indicating Molly had again dropped her phone, he slipped his into his pocket and went out the door, smirking.

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics are obviously from ABBA's "Dancing Queen" (lyrics by Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus and Stig Anderson). 
> 
> We're getting very close to the finale now ....
> 
> Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are now. :)
> 
> For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


End file.
